The Time She Knew
by seahorses
Summary: As Santana writes her wedding vows, she remembers every time she felt like she could spend the rest of her life with Brittany, and the first time she knew she was going to. Related to the Trains verse, but is a stand-alone piece. For Brittana Week Day 5.


**Summary:** As Santana writes her wedding vows, she remembers all the times she felt like she could spend the rest of her life with Brittany, and the first time she knew she was going to. Part of the Trains verse.

**Word Count:** About 3,000

* * *

><p>Santana can't believe she's writing vows right now. Vows for her wedding. Wedding vows for her wedding to Brittany. Because she's about to marry Brittany. Even though it feels like everything in the last ten years has been leading to this point, she's still awestruck that the moment is actually here.<p>

She had to Google wedding vows before she started. She hadn't been to enough of them to know what to do. Her older brothers were married, but she hadn't really paid attention to their vows, in favor of making snide remarks to Brittany about how dumb their fiancées must be to want to spend the rest of their lives with those assholes. Quinn's vows were probably written by someone else, probably just found on the internet with Justin's name pasted in appropriate sections. Quinn was pregnant and Justin popped the question and she didn't really no what other options she had at the moment.

The first site she goes to recommends reliving those momentous firsts that every couple has. She figures that it's a decent enough place to start—she has so many things, and yet so few to say to her, she needs to find her direction somewhere.

The only problem is that there are so many firsts for her and Brittany.

The first time they kissed. Santana was so young she can barely remember it.

The first time they had sex. Too drunk and hazy to be retold at a wedding. Or retold to anyone, really.

The first time they made love. A worthy memory, but her parents are going to be there and she'd rather not discuss that with them.

They have first dances and first handholds and first apartments and first joint-purchases. There are first bank accounts and first fights and first makeup sex.

There's the first time she knew, like _really_ knew that this was it, for the rest of her life.

The thing is, she always knew that on some level. Any idiot who saw them together could see that. Santana is a pragmatist though, so even though she could feel that this might be it, she also knew that life changes, people change, and that they were young.

There's a difference between _feeling_ and _knowing._

* * *

><p>The first time she can really remember feeling it was the summer after their Junior year in High School. She was sitting in the backyard at her Aunt Rita's house and Brittany had wandered off, to god knows where, maybe ten minutes earlier. It was the first time she was really around adult lesbians—or any lesbians for that matter—in her life. They were talking about Steph'sjob, and what a pain in the ass her boss was being, and how the plumbing to the washing machine was breaking down every two weeks.<p>

"The plumber must be on crack," Steph said, laughing. Santana smiled at her, knowing that she wasn't really included in this conversation, she was just the seventeen-year-old who happened to be nearby.

She's struck by how _boring _their conversation is. It's like sitting at her parent's dinner parties where people talk about their home repairs and shitty jobs and she's just the seventeen-year-old who happens to be sitting there.

They don't have _lesbian_ jobs, or _lesbian _plumbers. They just have regular old plumbers and jobs and regular, dull, adult lives. The public part of her, the part that opens its mouth most of the time, wants to say something snarky about how old and boring they all are. The private side of her, though, the side that's just beginning to show itself, starts to fantasize about Brittany yelling at the plumber with his dirty jeans sagging halfway down his butt and water sputtering from underneath the sink. She pictures herself complaining about the bill because the reason it took him so long to fix the problem in the first place is because he's a dumbass and she shouldn't have to pay for the fact that there is more activity in her clogged drain than in his brain. She pictures washing dishes next to Brittany and complaining about work and the sink clogging again and Brittany laughing when she's covered soapy water.

She doesn't say anything out loud, of course. She's seventeen and these old lesbians are lame, and God knows whether Brittany will want to be with her next year, let alone in fifteen. So she keeps her mouth shut.

* * *

><p>She knows that she felt it the first time they fought after living together. She was in the midst of finals, her first semester of her Junior year. Her advisor had been nagging her to get in her application for summer research grants again, she was taking 20 units, cheerleading, singing in a local band, and she was fairly certain that she was going to fail Statistics. She came home from a evening study session at the library to find the kitchen a complete mess, the laundry still unfolded and in the basket, and Brittany lounging on the couch with some of her dancer friends, drinking beer and eating pizza.<p>

"What are you doing?" Santana asks, trying to keep the annoyance in her voice hidden as she throws her backpack on the kitchen table.

"We decided to be bad since we have this hiatus from the show!" Brittany says, excitedly. "So, all things we're not supposed to eat—pizza and beer and chips!"

"That's great, Britt," she says, walking into the kitchen to start working on the dishes. She's trying her best to not explode. She hates this feeling—it reminds her of high school and it always feels like the longer she holds anger in, the more toxic it becomes. It's not long before Brittany comes into the kitchen.

"I told you I would take care of this, San," Brittany says, leaning in the door frame.

"Well, you didn't take care of it and I have a ton of work to get done, so I'm just going to do it now."

"I'll do it, San," Brittany says.

"Now you have friends over, don't be rude, and I don't want them to know that we're fighting."

"Then let's not fight," Brittany says. Suddenly there is a loud burst of laughter from the living room. Santana squeezes the sponge in her hands and shuts her eyes tightly. She really doesn't want to cause a scene.

"You're right, let's not fight. I'm going to go over to Quinn's, get some work done there. They're all in Finals right now so I don't have to worry about it being loud." Before Brittany gets a chance to respond, Santana picks up her backpack and storms out of the house.

She went over to Quinn's that night, which, luckily enough, was walking distance from their apartment. She and Quinn drank and didn't talk about their problems and studied.

She stumbled home at two that morning. Brittany was watching an infomercial for a Sixties music box set, her knees pulled up to her chest underneath the ugly throw blanket her mother had given her for Christmas that year. The dishes are clean and the pizza is in the fridge and the laundry is put away.

"You're drunk," Brittany says.

"I know," Santana replies. They stare at one another.

"You know you can't just get drunk every time things get unpleasant," Brittany says, walking into the bedroom.

Santana joins her there in a few minutes. She's not sure what the protocol is for sleeping on the couch when you've been an asshole, but she's drunk and she really wants to sleep and so she crawls in next to Brittany, careful to not let their bodies touch.

She wakes up the next morning to the smell of bacon.

"I thought you were Quinn," Santana says, her voice crackling because of the alcohol and the lack of sleep. "You know, because, bacon."

"I know you like it too, and you're going to need it to work off that hangover."

"I'm so sorry, Britt," Santana says, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "I overreacted. I'm just stressed about school."

"Don't apologize," Brittany says. "I told you I was going to take care of stuff, and I didn't. I know you're stressed," she says, pouring a glass of orange juice for Santana and bringing it to her. "I was just so excited to have some time off, I wasn't thinking."

"I was just so stressed that I forgot you might want to enjoy your time off." Brittany goes back to the kitchen and returns a moment later with two plates of bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

"I call it the Slamtana. Like the Grand Slams we used to eat when we were hungover in High School."

"You're too nice to me, Britt."

"No, I'm really not."

"I guess this is what everyone was warning us about when they said it can be hard to live with a significant other."

"We're learning, though."

"Even if my learning curve is a little bit slow," Santana says, taking a bite of the bacon.

Things were quiet for the rest of the day. Not _mad _quiet, just subdued quiet. Brittany listened softly to a band Quinn had introduced her to recently while she worked on some new choreography. Santana edited her grant application. Brittany talked to Tina on the phone about her new boyfriend. Santana made turkey sandwiches for lunch and they watched the middle of _Pretty Woman_, since that's what was on TV. Brittany went for a run and Santana worked on a paper on Heidegger. Brittany ordered Thai food and they both ate as they read. At ten, Santana opened a beer and brought one out for Brittany. Santana went into the bedroom to get her brand new reading glasses.

"Your glasses are sexy, San," Brittany says as Santana reads. "You look sexy when you work."

"You're crazy, Britt. I look like a nerd."

"I like it."

They read until their eyes were too tired and Brittany was starting to do that thing where her head would bob down to her chest and she'd gasp her self awake.

"Let's go to bed, Britt," Santana says, using both her hands to pull Brittany off the couch and into the bedroom. They brush their teeth and wash their face, and by the time Santana is done, Brittany is fast asleep.

Santana watches her. She's always been more of a late night person than Brittany, and she's not fully committed to bed though. She watches the way Brittany's sleep breathing is still slightly faster than a normal person's sleep breathing. She watches her hair rise and fall as her shoulders move. She watches her forehead crinkle with her dreams, and the subtle changes to her face in the last few year.

They are older now. It is unmistakable. They are older and more chiseled and the roundness of their faces has been replaced by barely detectable fine lines.

She thinks, if anything, she loves Brittany more now. She wonders what it would be like to love Brittany as they get older and older, as they pass fully into adulthood and those fine lines become deeper.

"I can feel you staring at me, San."

"Sorry," Santana whispers, kissing Brittany on the nose.

"I love you," Brittany says. "Goodnight."

"I love you too, Britt."

Santana still doesn't go to sleep for a bit, staring off into the darkness and thinking about the last 24 hours. It wasn't perfect. It was far from it. She's happy though, and she wonders if feeling happy in imperfection is what it means to truly love someone. She wonders if she and Brittany could fight and make up again for the rest of their lives.

She doesn't say anything to Brittany. She's twenty and God knows whether or not Brittany thought that fighting about chores and making up the next day was an indicator of relationship longevity. Santana kind of thinks she could fight with Brittany about laundry everyday for the rest of her life. She keeps her mouth shut though.

* * *

><p>She loves the moment that she <em>knew.<em>

She's studying for the bar. It's pretty much one of the more miserable times in her life, ignoring the whole closeted-mess disaster in High School. Their small apartment that felt so small those two years in college and smaller her three years in Law School seems to have shrunk to the size of the closet. Which is strange because Brittany's career really has taken off and she's spending less time there than ever before.

She's on a break now though, and Santana's studying and Brittany's researching Halloween costumes. Santana's cell phone rings in the kitchen and Santana gives Brittany the look that says, 'can you just get it', and Brittany sighs and walks the three feet toward the kitchen.

"Hi, Maria," Santana hears Brittany say. "No, she's studying. I'll tell her." Santana can hear her mother's voice through the phone, but she can't understand what she's saying. She knows Brittany's not really listening either because the refrigerator door opens and she can hear her going through the produce bin and throwing out unused vegetables and leftovers.

"Your mom says hi and to study hard," Brittany says, sitting back down at the table. She picks up a pile of bills and sorts them into unpaid, paid, and we can put off paying piles. She reaches the six inches over to their desk and pulls out a checkbook. It's their joint checking account and each check has a different cat in sunglasses on it. It was Brittany's idea, of course. Krazy Kitty checks, they were called.

"Are you paying bills?" Santana asks, nonchalantly.

"Yeah," Brittany says, using her neat handwriting to meticulously fill out checks and stuff them into envelopes. TimeWarner Cable, Bank of America Credit Card, LADWP.

"I paid TimeWarner online this month." Santana says. Brittany stops writing the check, but folds it up and puts it back in the drawer.

"I like that cat," she says.

Santana watches Brittany sign her name the same way over and over on the checks. She occasionally checks her phone. She puts her hair in a loose bun. And all of a sudden she just knows.

It's not like the first time she kissed Brittany, and she felt butterflies in her stomach the way she knew she was supposed to during all of those games of spin the bottle in middle school with boys and never did.

It's not like the first time they had sex, and they retreated in a drunken stupor into an empty bedroom and lived out the unspoken tension after all their grinding for boys' attention.

It's not even like the first time they made love, or the first time they slow danced, or the day they opened that joint checking account.

Santana looks at Brittany now with her hair in a messy bun and USC sweatpants hanging off her butt and dirty fingernails and just knows that she wants to be _this _bored for the rest of her life.

She wants to watch Brittany pay their bills on their joint checking account for the rest of her life.

She wants to drunkenly kiss Brittany and soberly kiss Brittany and kiss Brittany hungover and kiss Brittany with morning breath and kiss Brittany for the rest of her life.

She wants to complain about jobs and study and hire plumbers and roofers and cable guys for the rest of her life.

It all seems manageable if Brittany is with her for the rest of her life.

"Are you getting sick, Santana?" Brittany asks. "I got those Adult Gummy Vitamins from Trader Joe's if you want, because you really don't want to get sick right now, and you're looking kind of pale."

"No, I'm good," Santana says. "Do you want to go have sex?"

"I always want to have sex," Brittany says. "But I thought you had to work."

"I can take a break, for you, honey," Santana says. Brittany raises her eyebrow at the term of endearment, but follows Santana to the bedroom.

* * *

><p>Santana is still looking at the blank word document.<p>

"I always felt I wanted to spend my life with you. But I knew I _had _to spend the rest of my life with you the moment I watched you pay our bills with our cat checks," Santana types. She deletes the line and is interrupted by the phone ringing before she gets a chance to revise.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Santana," Quinn says. "Are you busy? Do you want to grab lunch?"

"I'm just working on my vows. What did you do?"

"I just plugged Justin's name into something I found on Google. I had a time crunch, you know?"

"I understand. I found this website that said to think of your 'firsts' and you'll find your vows there."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Quinn says. "You and Brittany don't have firsts. You just have before love and after love. Like Christ. I mean, what are you going to say? I knew I was going to spend my life with her the moment I laid eyes on her? I spent ten years pretending that's not what I wanted. I think it's really hot when we do chores together?"

"It is pretty hot."

"Forget your firsts, Santana. It's all a continuous stream for you two. Just say, 'I love everything about Brittany S. Pierce. I love the mundane and I love the complex. I look forward to living a dull, domestic, mediocre life with her, because with her, nothing will ever be mediocre.'"

"That's nice, Q."

"Good. Let's go out."

"Okay, Q. I'll meet you in twenty."


End file.
